A walk in the park,
‘neath the trees,
sunbeams which light the way;

Swaying upon,
a nimble breeze,
dancing, are the rays.

A walk in the park,
o’er the grass,
bending in the wind;

Floating above,
the flowers spring,
are butterflies, broken winged.

A walk in the park,
where winter ends,
and summer has yet to burn;

I leave such pieces,
of love behind,
my heart at every turn.

I leave them there with nature,
forever,
in her arms;

Through hot and cold,
they shall grow old,
and fade into her charms.

By: Viraj Belgaonkar